That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas
by Leara Bribage
Summary: Enjolras and Éponine wakes up in a hangover and find out—shockingly—that they are married and in Las Vegas. Now, trying not to be awkward, forget being married, sue Les Amis—especially Courfeyrac and Grantaire, and escape the Patron-Minette while trying to get rid of each other, who knows where these two would end up for waking up in Vegas?
1. Not A Dream After All

**[A/N]:** This ffic was based on a practice prompt in tumblr given by **mywishfulthinkingstar** (that's her tumblr), a.k.a. **RhondaAnn1** (that's who she is here in FFnet) and though I intended it to be a one shot, like how I always treat prompts, it didn't quite turn out that way... It just became longer and longer... So, yeah. But I hope you love it, anyway.

**Disclaimer:** No barricades are needed to be crafted and utilized to revolt against me, since, _honestly_, I own nothing but the motion and flow of events in this fan fic! And do I look like Victor Hugo to you? Nah! (Not that you know how I actually look like, but that's classified.) It was never in my neurons that they were created, so _muskets off_, m'amie.

Now, get lost in my story!

* * *

**Chapter One**

**+ Not A Dream after All +**

Faint smells of vodka and cotton blankets awakened the curly blonde man from his sleep. He blinked once, twice, thrice to the glowing light of day coming from the slightly parted crimson curtains of a somewhat furnished room, but for some odd reason, he didn't seem to want to get up from the bed—even if a migraine had started plaguing him.

He was too comfortable and perfectly content with being hazy and lazy in that moment. Ignoring his aching head, he sighed in relief when he felt something—or rather, someone—stirring beneath him. Abruptly, Enjolras realized an arm was lying limp around his waist, so he tried to remove it, but found that he couldn't for a second because he found out that the limb belonged to a certain brunette of mystery, Éponine Thérnardier.

_Paris Las Vegas… Les Amis… Karaoke… Vodka… Laughter... Kisses…._

His blue eyes widened in surprise and recollection of the events the night before. It would not do well on their parts, so he tried to entangle himself from her and save whatever's left of their dignities, but damn the grip she had on him. Éponine would simply _not_ let go of him. Sighing, he clutched her petite form gently anyway and put the blanket that barely covered them around a little higher to preserve modesty. The silent form of Apollo's face turned crimson as the little flower reciprocated his embrace by tightening the hug and _unintentionally _putting her lips on the collarbone she laid her head on.

He felt her lithe legs tangle beneath his, as well. The conservative blonde tried not to be repulsed by the act, but, shockingly, for him, his body seemed to be in tingles of delight and excitement in the nearness of the form of a woman. Enjolras closed his eyes to restrain himself from indulging such ecstasies to respect the desolate girl, so he let slumber take him from the fantasies _and _pain. _Certainly_, he thought, _it would not do well for us._

A few minutes past noon, Enjolras woke again because of the incessant motion that has taken place in his arms. He heard a yawn, so he opened his eyes and once again remembered what occurred the night before and morning earlier. He felt her brown locks beneath his chin and heard her mutter, "Vodka would be fiiiine. That would at least dake da pain away, m'sieur. Merci." Grinning a little, he unconsciously ran a hand across her bare back for reasons unknown to him. Éponine, even in her sleep, shuddered with mirth at the act, so she stretched involuntarily. Thus, her nude form, which was wrapped in a burgundy blanket with him, met his on the chest, and once again, the golden soldier strived for control and willpower with a barely suppressed moan.

And that seemed to be a rueful act.

It woke the rose in his arms abruptly.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

Éponine Thérnardier was extremely used to extremely weird and surprising events, that even if you told her that you were gay, a nuclear missile is going to be launched at the country anytime soon, someone she knew—barely or familiarly—died, she's going to be kidnapped or going to jail for something she's done, and/or various other news that would take the average person flabbergasted or fainting, she'd hardly bat an eye lash at it. She wouldn't care. No Thérnardier ever would. It simply wasn't in their blood to give a damn or fuck about it.

But to find herself in the arms of a young man—and a heavenly handsome man at that—was beyond words and acts of embezzlement.

She was in the arms of Enjolras, the bloody stonehearted 'Chief' of Les Amis de l'ABC—naked _and _in a bed with him. Her mind seemed to decide that it was just too much for her to take. "Bloody hell," she suddenly uttered, frozen in her scandalous position with him—mind you, it isn't every day that girls like her—well, she was a theatre actress, but a lot of guys there can be very arrogant—would ever get a decent chance having a decent guy like him in bed. But that was _completely_ beside the point.

"Not exactly," the usually stoic voice trembled a bit when he replied. "We're in Paris Las Vegas—a hotel."

Battling the chaotic after effects of a hangover, Éponine's eye twitched in ire, but found herself still immobile from their positions. "Y-yes, I'm very well aware of that, Enjolras," she finally responded after a moment's pause. "What I'm talking _about_ is—damn it—why and how _we_ ended up here. Any ideas, o, Great Statue of Marble and Liberty?"

She felt Enjolras' cool blue gaze swept over her face, searching for mockery, but that wasn't exactly what she showed in her face—she was dead serious about wanting to _know_. And that's the only thing that's keeping her from just flipping out and throwing the warmth and comfort he radiated from his arms. Éponine tried very hard _not _to like the feeling, but her body told her otherwise because she hasn't removed herself from the situation.

Frankly speaking, nor did Enjolras.

"We got drunk," he spoke calmly, "in the party with amis, and for some sort of twisted fate, we managed to get up here in my room—red room luxury 47—at Paris Las Vegas." Éponine closed her eyes and bit her lip, but nodded in agreement. Enjolras was speaking the truth after all. The group decided to have a reunion in the hotel, and things, well, just spiraled out of control in a weird and surprising way, which, frankly, is sixty percent actually good and forty percent bad.

She heard Enjolras clear his throat, so she opened her eyes and saw his cheeks were incarnadine from embarrassment. "Why're you blushing?" she asked rather bluntly. Éponine saw his Adam's apple bob in anxiety and secretly got thrilled because of it. The blonde tried opening his lips to reply, but decided against it. Using his eyes, he gestured to their intimate embrace and, well, nudity.

Éponine felt reality slap her like a damn bitch. She cursed herself for ignoring what _really_ was happening and felt blood color her cheeks. Coughing, she slowly entangled from his arms and took a part of the crimson blanket to cover herself. It was strange that she felt her heart drop when she went away from him. Enjolras did the same—having boxer shorts to cover him, at least—but averted his eyes to the ceiling and spoke softly with difficulty, "If you want to, y-you can, um, take a bath now. Your clothes and bag might be there."

Feeling herself nod, she desperately tried to cover herself with the blanket and head to the lavatory. Her fingers endeavored to reveal nothing more of her form to Enjolras, but when she felt something unfamiliar circling around from one of her fingers, Éponine looked down and felt her jaw drop in another surprise. A platinum ring was found on her left ring finger. She took the band slowly and curiously to look for something—two names, a quote and date.

_A flame that never dies light the path of union for Antoine Enjolras and Éponine Thérnardier- Enjolras on the seventeenth of February, 2—._

"ANTOINE ENJOLRAS, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" Éponine screamed.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

After a momentary pause, Enjolras could still feel the tingling of her shrill voice in his ears.

"What do you mean?" he returned with a tone of surprising calmness. The furious brunette gaped at him and then marched to his side of the bed with an alarming air of a barely restrained wrath. She neared her fuming face to his contrasting composed one and said with an unknown venom in her voice, "This." Éponine went back a bit and showed the cause of her confusion and fury. But whatever it meant to her seemed to have passed his understanding. Still, the deathly gaze she held towards him made him feel quite uneasy. And he wasn't a man easily frightened.

Unfortunately, Éponine had that 'no-fucking-nonsense' glare pointed at him. And he wagered she was just as stubborn as him. But he was lost as to why she was shouting at him and waving a ring in front of him.

"I-I don't understand," he admitted honestly, but for reasons beyond him, Éponine groaned and muttered a French curse.

"To think that you are one of the brightest colors in the box, Enjolras, you seem to know _nothing_ of matrimonial affairs!" she responded with her tone accusing and irritated.

He furrowed his brows and replied, "I _do _know of such affairs. Why are you shouting that to me?"

Éponine put a palm to her face and sighed. She proceeded to glare at him, but then her eyes poured over him, searching for something. When she seemed to have found it, she went nearer to him and grabbed his right hand. "_This, _Enjolras," she answered wearily, "is what I am talking about." Enjolras suddenly felt the platinum band on his ring finger choke the veins around it.

"Ah," was the only statement that escaped his benign lips.

Éponine, still clutching the red blanket around her form with one hand, showed him hers and told him of the inscription inside.

"I… have no idea how… this happened," he replied honestly, but regretfully. Enjolras couldn't find the courage to look at her straightly, somehow.

"Nor do I, Enjolras," she said back, looking uncomfortable and tired, even if it was afternoon. The marble gazed at her discreetly and sighed.

"Mademoi—I mean, Éponine," he began shyly, working the nerve to gaze at her directly again. When she turned to meet his eyes, he continued. "Just… take a bath for now and rest for awhile. Then let's ask the Amis, if they know something about it."

Enjolras saw her brown locks cover her face. _A veil_, he thought. But when she raised her head, gave him a brave smile, and nodded, the stonehearted leader felt his heart soften with the sadness in her eyes. Éponine rose and strode towards the bathroom to collect herself. But before she entered, she gazed back at him and said, "Quite a day, oui? I hope it ends well for the two of us."

Somehow, Enjolras found it hard to agree that it will end well.

* * *

**[A/N]: **So far, how do you like it, m'amie? Don't worry, there'll be more to come. :) Bear with me, though, m'amie. The prompt bunny here is taking a lot from me. My carrots, especially... And I love carrots. Do you? Well, I'd like to hear from you lovely people, though! :D


	2. Doing Everything All Wrong

**[A/N]: **How I loved reading and answering your reviews! Made me want to write this one so much! I hope you don't kill me for some things that are going to happen here. By the way, just so you know, Paris Las Vegas is _real_, and so is the red room luxury, but I don't know anything of the specifics, so I'm just making things up when it comes to places and everything, all right? I hope you like it anyway. This story, that is. Plus, I edited some things on chapter one because I saw a few grammar errors, but nothing changed much, so you don't need to go back.

**Disclaimer: **I don't need Javert to swordfight with and drag me into chains to become 10579 in Bagne of Toulon. Seriously. Naught I own! Naught I receive! (Well, except for reviews that is. Keep 'em coming. I love it when I read one.) All credit goes to Victor Hugo!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**+ Doing Everything All Wrong + **

The Day and Night before….

Enjolras found himself dragged to the hotel his 'friends' decided to have a reunion with. Courfeyrac and Grantaire made sure that he wouldn't be able to say no and _run _for his life by cuffing his hands. The two had worn borrowed attires of an LVPD, and it seemed to fit their image, which was supported by their acting—mainly consisted of holding his shoulders and talking to him as any officer in the state would. How the hotel even allowed their entry to the place was beyond his angered thoughts at present.

The security personnel didn't even seem to suspect their intentions a bit.

"I am going to sue you two the moment you get these cuffs off me," Enjolras said seriously, his voice deadly calm in the situation.

"Aw, that's sweet, bro, but we love you and know you enough to _not_ do that," Courfeyrac, the resident joker, said back, amused.

"And there're a lot of chicks and beer here, Enj," Grantaire drawled.

The marble barely suppressed an eye roll.

"You two told me it was going to be a _convention_ for Les Amis de l'ABC's advocacy's liaisons with other sympathetic groups and charities, _not _a party," he stated as they checked in and entered an elevator to go up the seventh floor.

Courfeyrac shrugged, replying, "Well, it's not like you would have agreed to go if you knew it was one. And, hey, it _is_ about our liaison with our friends from high school. Wouldn't you want to see your old friends?"

"I think I've had seen enough of them in high school, thank you very much," Enjolras replied.

Grantaire spoke this time. "_Everyone_'_s _going to be there, Enj. Come on, you'll have f-u-n!"

"Yeah, even the Pontmercys," the curly brunette added. "And, _pardieu_, our resident famous theater actress, Éponine Thérnardier."

Enjolras barely managed to restrain his cheeks from reddening at the sound of her name.

If his two friends caught that, they never said or made uproar about it. They've arrived at a room, took the cuffs off Enjolras, gave him a key, and pushed him inside the door.

"Look, dude, this red room luxury 47 is yours for the three days we'll be here," Courfeyrac explained. "Your baggage is already here, so just check your cabinet, get ready, and come to one of the event rooms in the floor above with a sign that says, 'Garden of Youth' when the clock strikes at seven in the evening. We'll all be there."

And that's how Antoine Enjolras found himself, clad in a simple black and red ensemble, perpetually bored at the 'convention' while staring at the glass of light soda he was holding and drinking that night.

While he was contemplating possible ways of murdering—while making it look like an accident—Courfeyrac and Grantaire with the speeches about their patrié he will shove down their throats for the whole month non-stop, someone covered his eyes and whispered, chuckling, "Guess who I am!"

Enjolras peeked from the hands that covered his eyes and gathered what he could to identify the person behind him. The hands were small, but long, expressive, and smelled of something quite vague like flowers—red roses, he wagered. Her voice was quite deep, but if she sang, she could belt a high note—hmm, an alto one or mezzo soprano, perhaps, like Joly told Musichetta once. Her tone was friendly, and there was something in her accent that was familiar and made his heart tremble.

"E… Éponine," he finally decided, grinning a little.

He heard a giggle before he felt her draw away, so he turned around to face her. Enjolras felt a smile widen from his face when he saw her eyes light up. "I didn't see you come inside and around here for a while."

Éponine chuckled at that and answered quite loudly, "Well, that's because you were _looking _at your drink, 'Jolras!"

That was when Enjolras realized she faintly smelled of alcohol. But he smiled, anyway. "Well, I'm sorry, but I'd like to be honest, I'm bored."

The brunette theater actress laughed and took his hand. "Well," she said, "let me entertain you with songs and wine! Joly and 'Chetta said there would be a karaoke here somewhere!"

And that was how five shots of tequila and three songs later, the perpetually bored blonde found himself enjoying and singing a duet from the musical _Rent_ with Éponine, who was already drunk beyond words and clinging to him via his lap and shoulder.

When the song ended, Éponine looked at him in awe and smiled. "I neeeever knew yoooouuu coudd acduaddy ding, 'Ras!" She hiccupped and grasped his face. "You're a _tenor_, and you _never_ dodd me? How could yooooouu?" Then she laughed and hugged him. "Yooouuu cooudd ding wid me in da theatre!"

Whether it was from the alcohol or just attraction, Enjolras shivered with happiness from the hug. Then he said clearly, quite sober than her, "Well, no one ever _asked_. But I _really_ like you."

He felt Éponine draw a bit, gaze at his eyes, and laugh. "I actuallllly liiiike yoooouuuu, toooo!" Then grasping his face, she leaned in, and whispered, "A lot! Truly! Yooouu'reee a veeery sweeeeet guuuuuy underdeath all dat maaaaarrrblleeee exderior, y'know? And dat's wwwhhhhy I liiiike yooou!"

And that's when she closed the gap between them by kissing him.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

At Present…

Éponine stopped midway in putting her leather jacket on as she vaguely remembered making out with Enjolras in the lavatory. She sniffed the loo and found it smelt faintly of... Enjolras' cologne and sex, even if it was nearly drowned out by the hot water and soap she drenched herself in. She found that—shockingly, for the nth time that day—she quite liked the scents of him. Bvlgari? Or, perhaps, Ralph Lauren? Never mind, she liked it. Even the intercourse part.

_Ugh, 'Ponine. Dang it. No, _fuck _it._

Oh, she wouldn't mind having an encore of that with him, but with their circumstances, _really_, that should _not_ be the first thing on her mind. Especially that marriage thing.

_Three days of reunion, Éponine. That's what you told yourself. That's why you took a break from the theatre for a bit. To have fun again when the crappy members of the production took their toll on you. To escape. Well, look where it got you. _

She shrugged listlessly and went out of the bathroom. The brunette saw the form of Enjolras sleeping again and chuckled at the sight of it. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she went to his side, sat, and poked him. But that failed to wake him. She tried tickling him on the waist, but all she got was a grunt. Éponine gazed at his curly blonde hair and sighed. It looked so soft, so she gently brushed his bangs away from his face and continued feeling her fingers through the bane of his hair.

She heard him sigh in relaxation and smile softly, as if in a dream. Éponine found herself smiling at that and couldn't help thinking of how the poor guy must be stressed out with all his work—she heard he was a lawyer at a big but humble enough firm. Battling civil cases and winning them, she mused, remembering the headline of a broadsheet she managed to read while resting after a day of hours and hours of rehearsing "Defying Gravity", a song she favored from the musical _Wicked,_ where she starred in as Elphaba Tropp, the Wicked Witch of the West.

The heading of the _Times_ then was about a convoluted vendetta from a group she'd rather not speak of against a small town Mayor who they accused of false identity and kidnapping. He won the case by presenting the known and unknown crimes of the said group, presenting them the true identity of the mayor—who was truly who he was—with birth certs and everything, and then ending it with a huge blow on the part of the said group and liberating the official. She didn't know much about law and all that jazz, but she was just happy he won.

As she was musing all of this and fondly combing through his curls, his soft murmuring woke her out of her reverie. "Je t'aime… Éponine," she heard him utter, his eye lashes long and moving, but not fluttering open. Yet. She was lucky he didn't because if he did, he would be seeing the oh-so incarnadine cheeks of hers. And that would be the death of her. She didn't want to hurt him, or herself, for that matter. But that put her back in reality enough that she regretfully put her fingers away from his luxurious curls. Enjolras, even in his sleep, seemed to miss her hands as he groaned and tried to get it back to his hair. Éponine tried not to shout at him because he was asleep, but his grip, even when in repose, was firm. So she pursued it anyway, sighed, looked away, and tried to still the rapid beating of her heart and the flutters in her stomach—minus the confusion in her mind, damn it.

_He actually said he loved me. _

_After all those years in high school…. _

_Not his fault, 'Ponine. You were too busy pining on Marius fucking Pontmercy who fell in love and married Cosette fucking Fauchevelent five years later. Why wouldn't he beat himself up with a dead language, his so-called mother, the Republic, and all those cases, eh? _

"Éponine…?" once again his voice woke her from the deep recesses of her mind.

She gazed at his blue eyes, which were quite glassy from just waking up again, and tried not to drown so fast. Her fingers had not stopped combing through his curls when she merely replied, "Hmm?" She enjoyed watching him drift off to the land of repose and waking as his eye lids kept closing and opening. She even hummed Davy Jone's theme as a lullaby to make him sleep even more.

"Would… you… please…," Enjolras tried saying, really fighting slumber, "stop… doing… that?"

Éponine felt her lips form a smirk as she continued to tease him. "But what am I doing? Am I doing something _wrong_?" She slowly said, as if speaking to a child—which perhaps was the current state of speaking of Enjolras. Well, she was having the time of her life taunting him to rise—that is until, he grasped her hand and kissed her wrist. That rendered her immobile.

"W-what are you doing Enjolras?" she asked nervously, although she perfectly knew _what_ he was doing. But it was so unfair! He was… seducing her! That was not what she was doing—she was only playing with his hair and humming a lullaby! That was _not_ naughty!

Yet there she was enjoying the brushing of his lips in that oh-so sensitive area of her skin. _Why you—! _She thought, biting her lip. She struggled not to moan with the motion of his luscious lips—plus tongue. But, alas, luck was not with her on that. She did impede it, quite in a queer manner, with a _meow_. She heard Enjolras' burst of carefree laughter which continued for a while that did not stop until Éponine snorted. She pouted, asking, "What's the matter?"

Enjolras laughed even more. When he has calmed down, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and looked at her fondly. "I don't really like cats," he started, "but when you _meowed_, it was just funny and cute."

Éponine didn't know if she wanted to hit him or tease him because she wanted to hear his laughter and see his smile even more. And he actually used the words "funny" and "cute" on her. Well, fuck, Enjolras was full of surprises for her that day. She tried not to blush, but, unfortunately, that was quite not how it worked for her. If he noticed, he never said a word. Biting her bottom lip, she asked him, "What did you kiss my wrist for?"

She saw him stiffen a bit, but the air of humor hasn't left him yet, so she was glad for that. Enjolras gazed down, and she noticed how his cheeks slowly turned incarnadine. "Well, you stirred a lot when you were sleeping in my arms," he began explaining, still refusing to look at her. "And you… kissed my collarbone."

The brunette raised a brow, not quite getting his main reason for 'attacking' her. "So?" she asked. "How does that affect you and lead you to doing… _whatever _it is you're doing with my wrist before."

Enjolras braved a glance at her directly, then. Once again, she fought hard _not_ to lose herself in the river of swirls that were his eyes. "_That_ part is—oh, never mind," he said, biting his lower lip as well. The brunette could see his marmoreal resolve and demeanor returning, but she would not have that yet. A wicked smirk, however, painted itself on her lips as she got what he meant.

"Oh! I know!" she blurted, surprising Enjolras, who raised a brow at her. "That is your _soft_ spot! Ah, the marble actually has a weakness!"

She heard him mutter, "I have many of that, but people still get surprised when they find out."

The mischievous brunette chuckled. "Hey, it's your turn to shower now, you know. We still have to find out how _all_ of this happened," she said, breaking the momentary silence that settled between them.

Enjolras gazed at her thoughtfully and nodded. Then he stood up, took some clothes out of his cabinet, and headed to the bathroom.

"Oh, wait," Éponine managed to blurt before he entered the lavatory. "I'll just go to my room—don't worry it's just five doors away since Combeferre made sure that everyone got the red rooms—so I can get some of my stuff, all right? I'll be back soon."

His tall figure just stared at her and nodded. "All right," he said back. "Just knock when you're back."

But before she decided to leave, she stopped. Somehow, the sight of him wearing nothing but his immaculate red boxers and curly blonde hair more tousled from sleeping, Éponine couldn't help herself from moving towards him, tiptoeing to reach his impassive face, and kissing his cheek. When she stepped back, she heard his breathing finally even out and found his intense blue eyes gazing at her incredulously.

"W-what was that for?" he asked, one golden brow rising. She could definitely see his valiant but futile attempts with hiding his incarnadine cheeks.

The brunette simply smiled. "A thank you for last night and earlier this morning, I think," she gazed back at him with equal intensity. She wasn't exactly sure if she should be mad or happy with him. Éponine reasoned out that she was only acting on impulse these recent moments.

"Ah, well, you're welcome," he responded uncertainly, which was quite uncharacteristic of him, given that he was always one of surety and purpose. _Well, _she thought, _even marble statues can be broken by a single blow_. _I mean, come on, everything and everyone has mortal flaws._

She turned then and went to her own room listlessly, like nothing happened.

If only her feelings were cooperative with her will to stop thinking of that moment.

But even her mind was doing likewise.

There's something wrong.

And she doesn't know how to fix it.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

At Present Still…

After showering and meeting Éponine again, they both went to eat at a restaurant in the hotel. It all seemed all right to him, but he couldn't understand why she suddenly became cold the moment they stepped out of his room. Somehow, that just justified even more why he didn't associate much with women. He just didn't appreciate it when they liked to "throw" themselves at him. But in Éponine's case, he didn't like being ignored to the point of oblivion.

Enjolras was many things, and he could be marble when it came to 'feelings', that even if you told him he failed his bar exam, he is going to be elected the next president of a republic, the most beautiful woman is head over heels for him, terrorists or envious officemates or people are going to kidnap and torture him, he won the lottery, and/or various other news that would take the normal person panicking or screaming in horror or delight, he'd just look at you calmly, say thank you for the information, but it is not of his interest or your concern, and walk away. Should you argue about the 'kidnapping and torturing', rest assured, they will be taken care of by his otherwise infamous terrible side, sued, and put to prison. As for the 'most beautiful woman', he'd hardly acknowledge her as he is busy with his papers and advocacies.

But if that woman has long blackish brown hair, sweet brown eyes, and is petite and a famous theatre actress; and goes by the name of Éponine Thérnardier, you may as well hit him in the head—not really encouraged—and find him staring after her thoughtfully—all right, you may just as well hit him in the head and make him go after her.

But all of this is absolutely, begrudgingly, completely, despairingly, enduringly and fretfully _beside_ the point.

He watched her eat her plate of pasta puttanesca quietly while he finished his, but he still didn't understand why she put a stony façade after the events in his room. Enjolras closed his eyes as he drank his café latte and tried not to think much of her. If only it were that easy.

Suddenly, a couple beside their table called her name. Éponine stopped eating and looked at them, saying, "Yes? How did you know my name?"

"Oh, my gosh! It's really her!" the woman said, with her hands clapping softly. "Ah, pardon me, I watched you in _Oliver! _as Nancy. You were wonderful. My husband and I here are huge fans. We're just delighted to see you!"

She smiled and nodded. "Thank you. I'm glad you liked the performance," she replied politely.

The woman smiled wider and said, "Would you mind if we take a picture with you and your beau? _Wait_, I see rings. You're married! Wow! Congratulations! Handsome one!"

Enjolras tried not to choke on his cup as Éponine looked at him with wide eyes, as if she was saying, _We forgot to take the rings off_.

"Actually, we a—," he tried helping her, but the woman took a camera out and waved him off.

"Oh, we understand that you're being private about it," the woman said, grinning knowingly. She and her husband were walking towards them already. "A picture with you two, if it's all right?"

He gazed at Éponine for approval and she nodded. "Yes, it's all right."

When the husband got a waiter to take their picture, they settled for poses. As soon as it was over, the man looked at Enjolras and peered at him curiously. "Actually, you look familiar, too. By any chance, do you work for the Robespierre & Rosseu & Co. firm?"

He raised a brow and nodded. "Yes. Why?"

The man took his hand and shook it. "Well, sir, I work across. I'm a musician—actually, a musical director—employed to Musical Dreams, owned and run by Lucas Feuilly. I heard you won a lot of cases at such a young age."

Enjolras glanced at Éponine and saw her nod. "You say you are working for Feuilly? We're friends of him," he responded.

The man's wife chuckled, saying, "Well, look what we got here! Friends!"

The husband smiled, nodded, and handed him a calling card. "Well, sir, we're glad to be acquainted with you. If your wife would like to record an album, feel free to look and call for me." Then holding his wife's hand, he left a bill on the table, and they went off.

When the couple left, Enjolras heard a chuckle. He looked at Éponine and found her grinning. "They actually really bought that," she said.

He shrugged, not wanting to see her smile go away.

Then she asked, "Have you seen any of Les Amis? I didn't see them anywhere yet. I knocked on a lot of the red rooms, but no one answered. Not even my calls."

He shook his head. "Nor have I," he said.

Éponine finished drinking her watermelon shake. He did the same to his coffee and reached for his wallet in his pocket. He was about to pay for everything when she put a hand on his and said, "Nuh-uh. We are going to split the bill, Enjolras. And don't even protest."

He gazed at her directly and then shrugged. "If you say so," was his reply.

When they left the restaurant, they just walked around with no direct purpose while Enjolras tried not to gaze much at her. Unfortunately, as he was very busy staring at her back, he was hit when Éponine suddenly turned.

After rubbing his throbbing chin, he noticed the distraught look on her face. He grasped her arms lightly and asked, "What's wrong?"

Éponine looked up at him, and he caught the fear in her voice when she answered, "My father's gang is here."

* * *

**[A/N]: **I hope you don't kill me for making this chapter a little boring in the end. I mean, I had to, but then... well. Anyway, if you got my references on the musicals, well, I'll clap! Someone make Aaron Tveit and Samantha Barks be casted as Fiyero and Elphaba. Seriously. Someone make it happen? Who'll take their places with me? ;) I'ld love to hear from you peeps soon! :D Oh, and my favorite scene so far here was when 'Ponine _meowed_. And Courfeyrac's ingenious reason to maken Enjolras come. What're yours?


	3. Longing to Know

**[A/N]: **I'm really sorry I couldn't update fast enough. I had to take care of my sick mom, prepare for school, and just do chores at home. I got distracted by tumblr, too, sorry, and just had a dilemma. And then I was practicing singing, so I got distracted by that, as well. THANK YOU for those who review, favorite, and follow. I like talking to you and reading your thoughts. :) Any roads, I hope you enjoy this one because I did enjoy making it. I would probably blow your mind. ;)

**Disclaimer: I think we made it clear that I do ****_not_**** desire to be convicted of fraud. Anything you recognize was never mine to keep. *cries* **

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**+ Longing to Know +**

"Courfeyrac, _seriously_?" Combeferre sneered at him. "What did you two do?"

Grantaire rolled his eyes as he drank another shot of vodka. "Noding serious, 'Ferre," he answered lazily. "Just for fun, man."

The jokester lawyer laughed and toasted his beer to Grantaire's as his sign of agreement. "Yeah, nothing serious. 'Won't hurt 'em a bit. I mean, come on, we do know _he _likes _her_, vice versa. They've been hiding it for years. Wouldn't we want our best friend do be daaappy?"

Jehan nodded, not even looking up from his laptop as he checked for mistakes on his poem. "Enjy was hurt a lot when she didn't even notice him. It's like he became 'Ponine when it happened years ago, but we _never _did anything. All because we thought he would eventually make a move, and she, forget about her 'adoration' of Pontmercy—but they _didn't_. It's like they're Éponine and Sabinus in hiding, well, in a figurative way when it comes to ostracizing love," he rambled, erasing 'fool' to become 'true'. Azelma was leaning against his right shoulder as she nodded and whispered to him, "That's good. Just add 'dreams' after the next line."

Feuilly tapped Prouvaire's other shoulder in acquiescence and nodded to their doctor-slash-philosopher. "Like a Polish proverb states, 'hunger will lead a fox out of the forest'. In this case, 'foxes'—and I agree with these three when they think that this is the only way to lure those two out of their caves and finally acknowledge their so-called 'love."

"Yes! But that does not moralize what these two did. For 'fun'? Are you seriously playing Cupid, you two?" Combeferre spat. "And using Marius as the one to civilly marry them! Over wine! At the karaoke! Even me! You used me and my Therese as witnesses! When we were all drunk! ARE. YOU. ALL. FUCKING. BONKERS?"

Joly winced at the swearing of their frustrated—or rather, livid—friend. That was rather unexpected of their otherwise 'no-uncouth-words-when-I-am-around' friend. He took two handkerchiefs from his pocket—one to cover his mouth and the other to him, so Combeferre wouldn't spread his saliva around. "Uh, Combeferre, calm down and have a hanky, so you won't spread virus," he explained, giving him the cloth, but the other doctor yelled at him in wrath and hit his hand away.

"_Seriously_, Joly, my saliva isn't the matter now! For your information, I have brushed my teeth three times already this day! What matters is _how_ we're going to fix this mess!" Combeferre scolded him, and then he closed his eyes and took a breath. "_By Jove_, mon amis! We are all going to be so dead when they finally learn about the truth. We're going to drive those two crazy."

Musichetta immediately went to Joly's side and comforted the poor fellow by patting his hair and cradling him to her chest. Then she glared at Combeferre and snapped, "Yes! But you didn't have to hurt my Joly!"

The affronted doctor opened his eyes to gaze at them and breathed again. "I'm sorry, Joly, Musichetta. I didn't mean to do it. I'm just worried for our friends. I mean, I couldn't even call them back because I forgot to put some load on my phone, and when I opened it, I've gotten like ten—_ten_—messages from them each! Then five missed calls from them each! Again!" He looked at his friends around despairingly. "Please tell me you've all gotten the same thing from them."

Bossuet nodded, saying, "Yeah! Got eight only, though. But I also forgot to put some load on my phone."

Bahorel snorted at him. "Just your luck, bro," he said. "I thought we all agreed not to text back, though, when they did try to contact us. I mean, it's like their 'honeymoon', right?"

Bossuet ignored his teasing jab and listened instead to his iPhone, but answered back, "Yeah, that's what Courf and R told us here, though."

Combeferre stared at them all in horror. His fiancée looked at him and sighed. She stood up and hugged him from behind. She whispered in his ear, "Breathe, 'Ferre, breathe. Just breathe."

He obeyed her command and finally relaxed, but looked at Azelma, who was humming while still helping Jehan correct his mistakes. Combeferre knew she felt his gaze, so he spoke, "Azelma, tell me, did you have a hand in all of this?"

The redhead glared at him, but nodded. "_Yes_, but why wouldn't I want it for my sister?"

Combeferre didn't answer her and proceeded to glance at Musichetta. "You—'Chetta, you work with her in theatre. Were you in it to _months_ before?"

Musichetta entangled herself away a bit from Joly and gave him a sly smile. "Oui, but the girl needed the break, really. She was getting a lot of pressure from the maestro and dealing with lots of hate from the jealous theatre actresses who wanted her role in various musicals, like, say, _Oliver! _and _Wicked_," she answered honestly. "I didn't even deal with a lot of _bullshit_ like that from people when I got the role of Christine Daaé in _Phantom_, but they didn't cut her some slack yet. Saying things like, 'she's just a newbie' who got the 'roles' because of her 'situation' and because 'authorities' were 'sympathetic' to her."

Everyone in the room stared at her. Bahorel and Courfeyrac's jaws dropped before they could utter, "'The fuck they wanted?" Joly added, "But she's great! Just like you!" Even the distraught Combeferre and his fiancée could only nod in acquiescence. Grantaire even stopped chugging his bottle to comment, "She had our hearts stodding when she did dat last note on 'Defying Gravity'." Jehan Prouvaire stated, "She has the voice of an angel, but that's not just it. Her voice can channel the feelings of the songs wonderfully. It's just paradisiacal." Azelma didn't even mind that her boyfriend praised her sister because she just smiled genuinely at that.

Musichetta eyed each one of them and nodded slowly. "That's why I agreed to Courfeyrac and Grantaire's plan. Just for once, even if I don't know how it'll actually end. But so far, all we know is that they've slept_ together_ last night. Who knows what happened in the morning. They're adults—they'll deal with that. And I don't know about _his_ issues, but I do know he's had a lot on his hands lately—and I'm not even mentioning the charities he's taking care of," she said, waving a hand.

Bossuet nodded, but looked at her inquiringly. "But what 'issues' are you talking about, in regards to her?"

That silenced the excitement and currently air of agreement in the room.

Musichetta glanced at Azelma, and so did the others—except, of course, Prouvaire. But the redhead shook her head to her unspoken question, so Musichetta didn't budge and looked back at Bossuet.

"Not my story to tell," she replied enigmatically, showing a little of her flair to make things mysterious as an actress. "So if you want to know the matrix of all those, I'm afraid you'd have to go to her and ask."

Bossuet pouted and put a fist on his cheek. He grabbed his coke, continued listening to Coldplay's _Viva la Vida_ and glanced at Combeferre, who was still eyeing Courfeyrac and Grantaire suspiciously. He wondered why he was still looking at them like they were evil masterminds who have plotted an evil scheme.

He coughed a bit and voiced his query a little differently. "'Ferre, why're you still looking at Courf and R like they just grew two heads like Janus?"

Combeferre didn't look at him as he answered, "I am seriously wondering how they got the rings made. And who thought of the inscription inside. If I hadn't known better, I would be thinking that _he_ himself thought of that." Then he raised a brow at Grantaire. "Give me a name. I know you take care of the sentiments—the little things like the set-up, getting us all in this hotel, and that, but _how_ did you know? And I know you, Courf. You do the more tedious one—the civil things and how to get them both here. But how—_how_—did you two get these all done? And why is seven so present in everything?"

"Seven… is what's constant with them both," Prouvaire slowly said. Placing two fingers on his right temple, he added, "I mean— look at it, both of their first names… _equally_ have seven letters."

"His favorite number is seven," Grantaire continued, nodding.

"The room I reserved for him is forty-_seven_," Courfeyrac connected.

"Not only that, but she was just _seven_teen when she became independent—of things and some issues," Azelma put in.

"And yesterday was February _seven_teen—," Musichetta began, smiling wider as she recognized the pattern.

"The day they got married," Joly finished for his girlfriend.

Bossuet's jaw dropped while Bahorel gulped from his drink and looked at them with wide eyes. "Guys, stop blowing my mind with all these numbers and patterns," he stated. Even Therese had already put a hand to her open mouth to cover her surprise.

But Combeferre managed to contain his excitement when he said, "That's wonderful, guys. But I must ask—who took care of the rings and papers?"

The Polish connoisseur and artist of the group spoke up. "I took care of the crafting of the rings, but R here told me what should be the inscription. As for the papers, it was really written by Marius and Cosette—and if anyone's wondering, the two already checked out last night to go somewhere I forgot to ask."

"Ah, yes, we know about Marius and Cosette. They had to leave early because they're going to visit M'sieur Fauchevelent." Combeferre answered and finally _fully_ relaxed. Then he nodded at him. "Remind me to have your services when I marry Therese, yes?" he told Feuilly, who just nodded happily at that request. Combeferre then looked at Courfeyrac and Grantaire. "Look, m'amie, I am _not_ mad at what you really did for those two. I'm happy you two did it. I just didn't understand why _I _had to be a little inebriated for the 'ceremony' to be initiated. Tell me—why?"

Courfeyrac finally got a little sober after refraining from sipping his drink for a while. He answered, "It's because you're just as serious as _he_ could be. And to be honest, dude, I'm not even sure if you would have actually consented to the whole falsification procedure of things. We just had to make it _happen_ for those two tigers, seriously."

Combeferre sighed dejectedly and took his seat. Therese followed after, putting her blonde head on his shoulder.

Then he spoke. "You're right. I just hope that things will turn out good—no, have _achieved_ something to alleviate the tension between those two and finally make them realize that it's all right to actually treasure someone."

Jehan said, "That's up to those two. Whoever realizes it first will be the wisest and happiest."

Azelma added, "Well, if you could crack the marble first and make the rose bloom again, that's what."

The poet looked at his girlfriend and smiled. "I must be rubbing off on you, oui?" he asked amusedly, caressing her cheeks with the back of his hand. The redhead blushed madly, but smiled nonetheless. "Or, maybe I'm actually smart enough to make my poems!" she teased. Jehan laughed and shrugged, going back to his laptop.

Grantaire smiled lazily at the two. "Well, 'Zelma's right," he stated lamely. Then he rubbed his cheek and proceeded to get another vodka or beer from Courfeyrac's keg when his phone loudly rang and vibrated on his pocket.

He took it out and glanced at the screen to know who the caller was, but looked up a little horrified when he did. He announced to the group, "Shit, guys. She's calling—for da twentieth time dis day!"

Courfeyrac gazed at him lazily, despite the frantic situation. "I think we better answer it this time, R," he replied. "She must be going crazy on the other line."

Grantaire nodded and answered it. "Hello?" he asked. "Yeah, it's me R. No, we're _not _hiding."

He regretted answering it—his left ear was almost damaged by the shrill voice of her screaming.

* * *

**[A/N]: **Yeah, I think you know who they were talking about. And hey, those pattern thingies? I only noticed it when I wrote this chapter. The sevens... Oh my gawd, my brain. And I didn't choose 7th of June because I would rather use that day to mourn for the revolutionaries. And just one more thing, it sucks here because my school chose to start classes on barricade day, which is tomorrow! Dang it. Oh, well, I'll lead a revolution there! And really, the casting committee should choose AT and SB for the parts.

OH, and last note, really. I am going to post a new story tomorrow. It's a deeper Enjonine one. Trust me. I'll let you know. :) Just saying. It's my tribute to Les Miz.

So, see you, m'amie! ^_^


	4. Burst

**[A/N]: **I'm really sorry for updating _waaay_ later than I normally would (and promised). It's just that I haven't been feeling well lately, school's started, and a lot of stuff happened. I really am sorry. But I hope you'll like this one. I hope you will. :) Oh, and, might I promote? So... I already posted the 'deeper' Enjonine story I said last Barricade Day, and it's called **Un Cœur pour la Révolution. **I'd really appreciate it if you try reading that one because it means a lot to me, and it's my favorite work. Some of you did say you would. So, yeah. Any roads, just enjoy this chappie! ^_^

**Disclaimer: **This is getting really old, folks. But naught I own. And I 'would not dare'. All of it goes to V. Hugo and the whole production of Les Miz. :)

Now, get lost in this chappie!

* * *

**Chapter Four **

** + Burst +**

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME, R! WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYBODY?" Éponine shouted in her phone as she tried to contact each and every one of Les Amis—whom she finally succeeded calling with Grantaire. A hint of a smile was pasted on Enjolras' lips as he amusedly watched her curse their friends.

He'd rather watch her with all her emotions in a whirlwind—well, not exactly that he wanted her angry, but it was better than seeing the golden flecks in her brown eyes fill with fear and barely restrained tears. No, Enjolras would rather want her happy and full of vigor than cold and dark.

"THEN WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS, HUH? I TRIED KNOCKING ON EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR DOORS, BUT NO ONE WOULD ANSWER. NOT A SINGLE SOUL. NOT EVEN IN THE 'GARDEN OF YOUTH' UPSTAIRS OR OUR CALLS! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY MESSING WITH ME, R? DON'T FORGET YOU OWE ME YOUR LIFE STILL! I SAVED YOUR ASS IN FRONT OF YOUR 'RENTS!" Éponine continued scolding the drunkard on the other side. _A pity_, Enjolras thought, but he was really on her side on that one.

There was to be no sighting of their friends, even in the restaurants and some of the boutiques inside the hotel, so the lawyer in Enjolras became suspicious of their intentions behind this whole reunion they were having—especially Courfeyrac and Grantaire's involvement in all of this, as well. They organized the party and so they must have done all of it—dragging him here, mentioning Éponine's name, and then _this_. But there must be a flaw on the plan, and that's what he'll use to help himself and Éponine get out of this tangled mess.

"WHAT? YOU'RE THERE? WHERE'S THAT? IN THE OTHER ROOM? WHY DIDN'T YOU—A NOTE? THIS MORNING? I DIDN'T SEE IT! ALL RIGHT, FINE! WE'LL BE THERE! BYE!" Éponine finished and then looked at him. Sighing, she stood up and walked towards him. "They're in another of those rooms upstairs. Let's go."

Enjolras waited for her hands to come and intertwine into his, but when she didn't and just opened the door, he couldn't deny the ache that had began to chip away from his heart.

"Come on, Enjolras," Éponine said, a little impatiently. He stared at her, quite surprised at her tone. She must have noticed this, so she went more softly as she said, "Please?"

Blinking at that tone, Enjolras sighed a little and went out with her.

Somehow, holding her hand felt right.

There's something, deep within him, telling him it's right—that it's all right to love, to fall in love with her, to treasure her—and his hypothalamus doesn't mind.

The tremor in his heart agreed.

But he knew it would take a long time with her—knew there were a lot of questions and that she was confused with how to answer it.

There's nothing wrong with that.

He'll try to answer it.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

A Long While Ago – Before Grantaire's Left Ear Was Murdered….

Enjolras stared at Éponine's frightened eyes. _Her father's gang is here_, his mind repeated what she has just stated. He grabbed her arms softly and felt the shivers in her skin. He looked behind her and saw the group glancing around, as if they were looking for somebody. He gazed around the area, trying to find a route to escape with. He bit his lip—there were too many people and those guys were scattering themselves all around.

Éponine was still immobile, and he understood why, but he needed her help. "Éponine," he said softly, but she wouldn't look at him directly. Her lips have become pale. "'Ponine, we need to escape, but I can't see a way out. Help me."

Her eyes turned to him abruptly, and she nodded. She bit her lip as she turned and helped looked for something to conceal their identities. The brunette must have seen something because she took his hand and went inside a store—a _clothing _store. Enjolras wondered for a second why she went there and then realized what she was doing and mentally slapped himself for not thinking so.

When they entered the shop, a lot of people were there choosing, picking frocks and trousers and the like—Enjolras mentally cursed for the quantity of people, but he didn't complain. Éponine turned to him. "Just pick anything that's gray, blue, or black—something that fades into a backdrop easily. Let's meet after ten," she whispered and then went to the women's section to pick her stuff.

Enjolras didn't like being ordered around as he was used to the one to be leading, but then he decided he wasn't like her, and that they were in a frantic situation. He went to his section, anyway, and picked a dark leather jacket, black muffler, blue long sleeved shirt, and dark denim jeans. He was going to the dressing room and found out all of the doors were locked except for one. He grinned a little for this small victory when a hand also fixed itself on the knob. He looked up to see who it was and tell that _he_ saw it first when he found that the owner of the hand was Éponine.

He quickly removed his hand on the doorknob and nodded for her to come in. "You go in first," he stated simply. "No," she said and took his hand. "We haven't much time." Then she opened the door and pushed him inside before he could even utter that it isn't appropriate and the room is very small and that she might get uncomfortable and that they would probably get busted out for that and—and oh, well, dang it.

But she didn't mind. And honestly, he found that he didn't, either.

But out of politeness and his principles, he turned around and let her dress up first. He pretended not to hear the falling off of her clothes off her. Éponine suddenly bumped on him when she put on her jeans, and Enjolras closed his eyes to restrain himself when he felt her bum hit his. A trickle of sweat fell down from his eye brow when he heard her mutter, "Sorry."

After a few moments, she asked him, "Enjolras, can you hand me the green shirt?"

He complied wordlessly and waited as she finished. Enjolras opened his eyes then and tried breathing properly. He felt someone tapping his shoulder, but he didn't turn, so Éponine said, "It's all right, Enjolras. I'm already done. You can face me now."

The marble ignored the shivers he felt at the nearness of her lips to his ears. He turned to see her clad in the clothes she chose and tried not to blush, but today just wasn't his luck. Enjolras just looked her in the eye, nonetheless, and told her simply, "You look... go—I mean, uh, wonderful—in green."

Éponine's eyes widened at that, and he saw her cheeks redden a little. Then she gazed down and softly said, "Thank you." Then she shifted her feet uncomfortably and turned around for him to dress himself.

He began putting his clothes off, then, and was finished immediately. When he was done, Enjolras moved closer unconsciously to her and whispered, "I'm done." Éponine jumped in fright a little and turned. Her mouth agape, after glancing at him, she wordlessly took his hand and opened the door for them to get out.

When they got to the cashier, they paid in card, and as they were going out, Éponine told him to wait as she got another leather jacket like his, two pairs of glasses, and another two varied caps. Enjolras looked around the area to check for the group, but didn't see a sight of them, so he thanked God silently and hummed a little tune while waiting for her. When she came to him, she gave him a few of the things she bought. He put on the glasses and the dark flat cap. She donned the other things as well.

Then she glanced at him and pursed her lips. "Something's wrong."

Enjolras raised a brow and asked her, "Yes?"

Éponine strolled towards him and fixed his muffler. When she was done, she unconsciously dropped her hand down his chest, pat it gently and softly said, "There—done." But before he could even say thanks, she took his hand and led him outside.

He pretended not to feel that soft caress.

Certainly, it would _not _do well for them both.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

A Short While Before Grantaire's Left Ear Was About to Be Murdered…

Éponine wanted to be calm, really, but when a six feet tall, statuesque physique, curly blonde, blue- eyed, and your-supposed-to-be-er-well-husband was pressed against you, it would be very hard to cease the rapid galloping of your heart into your throat and ignore the pestering sensitivity of your nerves—or rather, blame it on the hormones—on the part where you are most privy and sensual about is being bridged to his, well, most privy and sensual body part, as well.

That might have sounded and looked like a run-on sentence to anyone who is a grammar Nazi out there, but Éponine decided that no one would really mind, but today wasn't just her _lucky_ day.

She knew what Enjolras was _doing _was for her sake. He was hiding her from the unexpected appearance of the group she really would rather not want to face anymore. Éponine knew she wouldn't be able to refuse that kind of help since they had no other alternative.

It was all okay when they came out of the clothing shop since they succeeded evading them by walking around as normally as they could while taking the cover of the multitude of people to escape, but when they managed to pass the boutiques and dining hall, they were trapped between the recently occupied lounging area and currently locked smokers' area. The only ones inside the vast lounging area were mostly couples—who, mind you, were doing what so-called partners were doing, and as the other possible room to escape into was locked, no one was present inside.

And so they had no choice but to act the part. Be 'man and wife'. Well, the rings helped, but then, the group was hovering about and her father was quite near them already.

Éponine was about to suggest walking hand- in- hand while trying to make their lovey- dovey walk a little bit paced faster than was necessary and ordinary, but that was before the giant in her father's gang casually sauntered nearer to them. They were just steps away from the door of the lounging room, but she glanced at her father look at their backs—or, perhaps, hers—quite inquisitively and muttered, "That hussy looks familiar."

Apparently, Enjolras heard it, as well, that's why he immediately gripped her hand and led her beside a potted plant. She looked at him confusingly at that, but then he locked her in an embrace and whispered in her ear, "Don't glance in the crook of my arm, all right? Don't worry, anyway. Trust me."

She closed her eyes at that, but she wasn't really afraid of her father. She just wanted to get away from them, so she peeked a little and saw them about still, however. Éponine unconsciously clutched his waist and buried her head on his neck. Her ears picked up the quickening of his breath, so she looked up at him and was about to ask him if he's all right.

But that was when she saw the veiled trepidation in his eyes as the group seemed to assemble behind them.

Biting her lip, Éponine dared to breathe, grab Enjolras' worried face, and kissed his lips ferociously, with more passion than she has ever kissed anyone before. Faintly did she hear Enjolras' moan when she slowed down a little with light kisses and nibbles on his lower lip. His grip on hers have become tighter, so she was quite pressed on the wall—bless her side, she didn't harm the plant beside them—and she let her hands play with his blonde curls once more.

When they both parted a bit for breath, Enjolras put his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. She saw him lick his lips a little. He leaned in and whispered hoarsely—but it sounded husky, anyway, and sent shivers down her spine—her name. She closed her eyes at that and committed that memory to her mind. In the backdrop, Éponine was sure she heard the familiar brusque voice of the Giant saying that it couldn't possibly her, so their footsteps retreated somewhere else. She loosened her hold of him and called his name.

When he didn't budge, she patted him on the back and said, "Enjolras? It's all right. I think they're gone now."

That arose him somewhat, so he disentangled himself from her, and Éponine's body felt cold when his body heat strayed away from hers.

"Uh, so let's go upstairs now, don't you think? Let's try contacting Les Amis again," Enjolras awkwardly muttered, distancing him from her an arm's length away.

She noticed the gradually burning cheeks of his, so she kept quiet about it and nodded her consent.

They arrived at his room without further harm and maintained a polite conversation about work and inquiries of their friends' whereabouts. Éponine agreed to be the one to call the others since his phone was low on battery, so she started with Courfeyrac and everyone else without success repeatedly, but finally managed to get Grantaire.

While she talked the shit out from Grantaire, Éponine noticed the lingering stares of Enjolras and found that she barely minded at all, though she felt a little self- conscious. She may be an actress and used to 'attention', but there was just something striking with the way he looked at her—as if she was the only person in the world, as if she mattered, and as if… as if….

She didn't want to admit it yet.

Not yet.

* * *

**[A/N]: **So, uh, if you noticed some references for my choice of clothes for those two, you would have probably imagined what Aaron Tveit wore as Zachary, Betty's boyfriend, in _Ugly Betty_. Yeah, the one with the glasses thingy. I just added the dark flat cap to match with 'Ponine. As for Éponine, well, you can try making it fit with Katniss, but then her clothes were quite random because I only focused on the color of her shirt, which is green. And, hey, have you noticed? GREEN IS THE COMPLEMENTARY COLOR OF RED. Such opposites, yet they match, right? So if we base the color of 'Ponine's attire in the 2012 movie, we can perfectly match it to the color of Enjolras' coat. Oh. My. Gosh. Even the color wheel ships our OTP! Come on, agree with me! It makes sense, right? Well, if it doesn't, then, er, well, I am still offering carrots. Carrot, you like?


	5. Make No Sound

**[A/N]: **This is my favorite chapter, regardless of the pain you will surely feel after. Find out why. Clue: Moment after the contract. But, well, actually, I like all the chappies.

I would like to thank you all those who continued to follow, favorite, and comment on this story. I apologize for the decrease in the speed of publishing chapters. School demands my focus, too, you know. (Unless it is summer where you are. Well, I'm damned.)

**Disclaimer: **It was 'never mine to' claim. 'Why regret what cannot be'?

I advise all to ready tissues in case of abrupt and unbidden tears from falling.

* * *

** Chapter 5**

**+ Make No Sound + **

"FUCK YOU ALL, GUYS! FUCK YOU! WHY DID YOU TWO DO THAT? WHY DID YOU ALL EVEN AGREE?" Éponine spat as she cursed at Les Amis, Therese, Musichetta and her sister. "WHAT'S ALL THIS FUCKERY? A PRANK? WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF US? FOOLS?"

Courfeyrac and Grantaire looked down as she continued her swearing. Bahorel just put a fist on his cheek, listening to her outburst. Bossuet was frightened. Feuilly crossed his arms, standing. Combeferre worriedly gazed at Therese, who just held his hand. Joly was about to get another hanky for her, but Musichetta stopped his hand and glared at him. Holding Azelma's hand tightly, Jehan gazed at her sister apologetically. Meanwhile, the other person of the hour, Enjolras, was standing beside Éponine and glared at them too.

"WHO THE FUCK STARTED THIS FUCK?" she continued asking.

Everyone except Enjolras pointed at the trickster and drunkard, who looked and was getting more frantic by the second as Éponine stepped towards them.

As a deadly silence hovered above them, Courferyrac and Grantaire gazed at her with bated breath as she stopped in front of them.

"Explain," she ordered, her voice dripping with venom.

After all the screaming, accusations, protestations, and threats that accompanied their explication of their scheme, Éponine wondered about her ability to not give a fuck or damn about certain normally surprising things. For the second time this _day_, all things considered, she was genuinely shell- shocked. But she shouldn't have been, really. So she was speechless for a while.

They were Courfeyrac and Grantaire, after all. Fuckers extraordinaire and evil masterminds at heart and mind. Oh, and of course, soul and body. Seriously. This was supposed to be old. She's been hatching devious plans like this with them before. Even against the other person she was currently schemed into with. She shouldn't be stunned! For fuck's sake!

But, perhaps, it was because she felt betrayed because even her sister and friends were on it, too!

No one said a word. But that was supposed to be the point. So she couldn't get mad. It wasn't right. Well, all things considered, what they did was legally and morally wrong. Even 'Jolras will agree with her on that one.

Wait. What? 'Jolras?!

_The fuck—'Ponine? What's wrong with you? _

She closed her eyes and breathed.

Not everything they did was actually all wrong, though. But she was too scared to admit that she was absolutely, begrudgingly, curiously, and decidedly in lo—stop.

All right, let's get to the matter at hand. Them, now. Him, later. That's better. That way, she won't lose her mind about him. Yet.

So she decided to take more deep breaths to stop a migraine from pounding in her head.

It was then that she felt a hand place itself on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and met Enjolras' pensive blue eyes. He nodded to her, and she bit her lip. After a while, she nodded back. She wasn't used to someone taking over and helping her, but with all the things that had happened—she was just plain tired—no exhausted. Those were two different terms and mentally and emotionally exhausted would be better words. So she watched as Enjolras look back at all of their 'friends' and speak.

"Where, then, is this supposed document?"

Combeferre immediately reached for something in his pocket and handed him the paper written and procured by the Pontmercys. Enjolras took it gratefully and scanned it silently. Everyone in the room waited for what he has to say. After five torturous minutes, he glanced at them, but focused on her.

"This is null and void. Our signatures were obviously forged, even if they were expertly crafted by, if I may deduce, Cosette. It lacked the simplicity of the heart- shaped tittle when Éponine writes the 'i' in it. For, if you check it here, it was made bigger and more noticeable whereas the original wasn't. As to where mine is concerned, the loop before my first and last name was ignored," Enjolras began in his intimidating lawyer voice. "If we go to court, they will have to verify this and confirm our signatures, but as I have already stated, it is erroneous. Furthermore, this 'exchange of vows' and signing of this document were initiated when members of opposite parties were intoxicated with alcohol, and thus, no conscious judgment and decision were made. Ergo, it flaws the legality of this certificate."

Enjolras then gazed around them and finally said, "So it goes without saying that this 'contract' has not been made, and therefore, we are free."

Éponine looked at him, awestruck and jaw hanging open. The others' expressions were not alien to her reaction. And it was only exactly after ten seconds that someone succeeded to break the ice. Not that she was counting.

"Should've known Enjolras would always do that, you two," Bahorel said, snorting.

Combeferre glanced down, shamefaced. "We're dealing with a lawyer, after all," he added.

The schemers could only mutter, "Sorry."

Éponine sighed, defeated. She didn't want to cry anymore, really. Out of anger? No. Out of disappointment? Maybe. But then the poet of the group stood up.

"We only wanted you two to be happy," Prouvaire reasoned genuinely.

Enjolras and Éponine looked at him.

"Happy," Enjolras echoed. His voice was neutral—not exactly angry or sad.

"Yes," Azelma, this time, answered as she stood up beside Jehan. "I agreed to all of this because I want my sister to be really happy. And I would have doubted she knew the word 'happy' until last night. When she was with you. Even if you were both drunk. Would you deny my sister that? Would you?"

Éponine would have collapsed at the statement of her sister. Her little sister still actually cared—genuinely cared—for her. She wanted to cry, but the only thing she could do was hold and tug at Enjolras' jacket behind. He glanced at her to her sister and then back at her.

"No, I would not," he firmly stated. It was all Éponine wanted to hear.

Musichetta spoke this time. "Then let it be."

Enjolras did not take his eyes off her as he said, "But only if she wishes it to be."

Éponine's eyes widened.

Here was a man offering to be hers or not. But at the same time, he was also giving her freedom. And she appreciated it. She just had to admit it. She just had to say yes. But she wasn't sure if she was prepared.

But before she could answer, Combeferre spoke to the others. "Let's leave." Hurried footsteps and the closing of the door followed this command.

She made a mental note to thank him later for giving them privacy, but for now, she could only focus on Enjolras. And his eyes. And the yearning in it. But he knew her better, so he was holding back.

They were so close.

But separated by a simple query.

She didn't want to let go of him, but she just wasn't ready yet. Her heart was protesting, yet her mind was blank, waiting.

So she acted on impulse alone.

And she hugged him. She didn't kiss him. That one was dependent on opportunity. So she held onto him.

For all that's worth it and not.

Because he was beautiful.

And she a mystery.

Together, a hurricane.

~oOo~ That's What You Get for Waking Up in Vegas ~oOo~

Enjolras felt his heart clench when Éponine disentangled herself from his arms. She was freedom personified, after all. And Enjolras, respectful of such desires, didn't want to hold her back by forcing her into 'marriage'. But he blinked the tears away, anyway, because he should really not expect her to love him, and even more so, _marry_ him. He had long concluded that it _certainly_ wouldn't do well for them, hadn't he?

But why was his heart trembling, trembling with hurt and love scorned? He felt his hands fall slowly from her arms, as he wanted to treasure the feeling of her warmth and the softness of her skin, which brought memories of yesterday. Éponine seemed to be doing the same, as her hands ceased on the crooks of his arms. She looked at him in the eye, and the marble tried not to lean in and just cherish the lips he had just tasted consciously previously.

The golden flecks in her brown eyes were drawing him in once more, but he had to restrain himself. He would only gladly and wholeheartedly drown in those orbs if she decided she really loved him. They stood there, however, motionless, just staring at each other. Saying farewell, trying to reach out, persuading the other, wanting to send the words they cannot speak or admit yet through the mirrors of brown and blue…..

"If you want to, as I'm sure you would rather, you can go, 'Ponine," he began softly. "You are free, and I don't hold you—I don't want to hold you back from who you are and what you want to be."

He squeezed her arms a bit and went a little nearer. "I'd rather not be the 'Eastern Prince' Lady Chudleigh detests because you are strong, independent, brave, and invaluable. I cannot and will _not_ deter you," he continued. "So if you choose to go, I will not hold it against you."

Enjolras watched her bite her lip and tried not to groan. Her brows met in reflection, it seemed, but it must have been an hour when she finally moved closer and spoke. "I'll go."

The curly blonde nodded subtly as he let her decision sink in. Gazing down, he let his hands fall from her completely, but Éponine caught his wrists and held on tightly.

"'Jolras," she called him softly.

The eyes that suddenly found interest on the ground gazed back at her quickly, as if he was expecting something. Well, he was, but he wasn't sure if she'd recant her statement and stay in his arms. Blue met brown once more, but this time, there wasn't just the plain attraction filling it, there was something deep. Enjolras wasn't sure what it was, but he found himself understanding it, getting why the fluorescent light seemed to dim in comparison to the one in her eyes.

Perhaps it was because of the flame that seemingly burst like the galaxies of the universe in the two brown orbs he was gawking at. But, no, it had to be a river or the stars at night when the moon accompanied dusk. Either way, his comprehensive mind only garnered one thought that seemed universal and mutual to them: love. It burned so strong in it, yet it was calming as the waves of the sea, and in that moment, Enjolras was sure that Éponine felt the way he did for her.

Alas, she was still afraid. And so he could do no more but relent, respect, and wait.

"I'll go," she repeated.

And Enjolras decided he would freely and willingly die.

"But…," she continued, her gaze intense where his was pensive. He waited with bated breath what she was going to say next.

Or, maybe, what she was going to do next.

Éponine abruptly dragged his hands down to pull him closer to her and whispered, never losing eye contact, "I won't leave without doing this."

"Wha—?"

Before Enjolras could finish inquiring what she was about to do, she crashed her lips to his and kissed him—hard and long and bitterly. And when his mind processed what she was finally doing, he kissed her back with fervor. He wreathed her in his arm with one hand just at the top of her waist and used the other hand to caress her face. He felt her hands tousling his blonde curls, and for the love of everything and of her, he didn't want her to stop.

Oh, how he didn't want her to stop.

But she did, for a moment, to breathe and start kissing him slowly, gently—and if it was possible, why, yes, of course, lovingly. It was more than Enjolras could not do to stop her from leaving. He responded, anyway, with just the same tenderness and pace she had done. Enjolras bit her lips, which gasped at the act and therefore, opened for him to put his gracious tongue in. He felt hers, fighting like the stubborn person that she is, and Enjolras couldn't help himself from smiling.

He grasped her more tightly while she had already circled his neck with her lithe limbs. Éponine began to nibble on his lower lip and Enjolras moaned at the act. Feeling her grin on his presently overly sensitive skin, Enjolras just kept his eyes closed to commit the memory to mind. Then he felt her lips graze his jaws, and once more, he strove for control. But the best he could do was grasp the green shirt she was wearing and hold her closer to him.

Just when he was about to collapse from all the torturous flight of kisses she planted on his jaw lines and shoulder blades, Éponine stopped mid-osculation to gaze at him, panting. Enjolras, during that whole event had involuntary closed his eyes and turned his head upward, but when she ceased, he opened his eyes and met her look. Both of them were breathless and restless. One of her hands was still tugging at his blonde curls, the other dangerously close to revealing what lay below in his jeans. But he had already slipped a hand beneath her shirt at the back, slowly massaging any sore part his fingers felt.

She focused her gaze at him, and Enjolras sighed, eyeing her as well. He nodded at the question in her eyes as he withdrew himself from her. He tried not to notice how she trembled and pouted her lips at his extraction from her.

"Consider your life, 'Ponine," he said, his eloquent voice quivering but his gaze never wavering. "But if you asked, I would always have you—no matter what. So go."

Éponine's lips parted a bit, and she seemed about to debate options with him, but he put a finger on her lips and that silenced her.

"Make no sound," he pleaded, his blue eyes imploring her brown ones. "No more."

She surrendered to his plea, and he smiled at that. Then he put his finger away and grasped her left hand. He held it carefully in his and caressed it a little. Never breaking his gaze with her, he leaned down and gently kissed her hand. He let his lips linger for a while before he went away, but he paused near her ears to whisper, "I'll be waiting."

He heard her stifle a sob, so he went back. When Enjolras looked at her, she simply smiled bitterly and nodded. "Thank you," she replied and walked out—out of the room, but more importantly, out of his life. Once again.

Enjolras tried to stop the tears flowing from his eyes, but he found that it couldn't stop. No matter the blinking and deep breaths.

It certainly did not end well.

Not to him. Or her, for that matter.

But they say he was made of marble and she of thorns and litheness.

So even if it hurts, he will stay true to his promise.

He will wait.

* * *

**[A/N]: **Please do not kill me for what happened. Oh, and I think we are drawing near to the end of this story. I'll be sad. But I've got another brick-ish AU one. So, if you are interested, it's called **Un Cœur pour la Révolution**. Now, tell me what you think of this chappie? Your favorite and least favorite parts? Mine's the one with the "galaxies and stuff" thingies with their eyes. I was just too inspired with that one. But my favorite line here was Enjolras' successful attempt to negate the 'wedding certificate'. I had to google laws on that one, so if you want to clarify that, go ahead. :)

Until then, m'amie! :)


	6. Every

**[A/N]: **And no, I'm still alive. I was just burdened by school, especially since I'm a senior already, but most of all, I'm sick. For the past month. On and off. The past three weeks have been severe because I couldn't fully concentrate on writing this and studying. But fear not. I _will _continue this. And I know it hurts when I left you hanging with a "heartbreaking chapter" last time, but I will make up for it. Just give me time. I will give you tears and laughter and love if you do. Oh, and out of all the reviews, only my prompt-er, **RhondaAnn1**, understood truly-why it had to happen. Not that all of you didn't. And I'm not mad. In fact, I am cackling. But no, not at your expense, but the reaction you gave me. I didn't know if I was going to cry or laugh, but honestly, I do have a musket, and that should serve as a cool warning. Any roads, I really appreciate every review you give me because I treasure those. It helps me write. (Though my Muse has fancied vanishing around for a while.)

So thank you - those who continue to review, follow, and fave. You guys make my day. :)

**Disclaimer: **"It's all I have lived for. It's all I have known." But no, I would not dare.

* * *

** Chapter 6 **

**+ Every + **

She has always adored theatre. But she has always loved observing people more.

Perhaps it was because people sometimes acted in ways that they think people would approve of or admire. Like they were actors and actresses playing someone they're not or can at least relate with. Like someone's always watching them, so they're afraid to mess it up. Or, maybe, they're just imitating someone, like a celebrity. And that they do these acts on certain circumstances during certain events.

Perhaps, again, however, it was just the human nature of wanting to be praised—or of wanting to be treasured and loved. That was what she believed, at least. Yeah, that was why theatre appealed to her very much. Why it became her escape, her paradise, away from all the realities and complications. She loved being there because she could always pretend—pretend that she was somebody else.

Éponine was good at that. She's been doing it all her life—even before she went to theatre, back when she was still under the insalubrious care of her father and mother. Back when she was defenseless, alone, burdened, but she had conquered those, fought with the hardest she can, and there—victory was hers. She's managed to claim Gavroche and Azelma under her care. She's rebuilt and started her life anew. She wasn't the 'Jondrette' they, back in the slums and streets, knew. They were happy, free, and careless, then.

But no one knew the nightmares that would plague her in the twilight when the moon would be hidden by the dark clouds.

No one knew that she would cry, after all of it, through it all….

She was skilled at the art of deception, though, so that maybe added to her assets as an actress.

One habit she could never ignore and simply forget was using her voice, even if she's gone from the depths of her past criminal life. People said people liked hearing only what they'd _want_ to hear, so she's used that. She could be the sweet, ardent lover, or the most annoying bitch. She could be the kindest mother, yet be like the fiercest lawyer. Yes, she's regretted it sometimes, but oftentimes, it got her where she needed to be. But, no, she didn't use _that _to climb the ladder of success in theatre quickly. No, that wasn't it.

She manipulated it to stop people from _pitying _her. Because, well, she might just as well quote Meg from _Hercules_, but that's _it_: she _is _a damsel, she _is _distressed, and she is _not _fine, but, no, thank you, _she_ will take care of it. End of story.

Except that it wasn't.

Because finding yourself singing to Celine Dion's renowned song, "Alone", seriously isn't taking that shit.

Éponine would really like to swear to _not _sing along to that song, especially at a time like this when she is at emotional peril, but her subconscious would rather say, "No, Éponine. Not taking any of that bs or emotional barrier. Time for you to open that door, get out, and run happily in the rain. Now, sing."

Okay, she's handled far too crazier things than this 'thing', but it seems that odds were against her because that music started playing the moment she stepped on the bridge crossing a river. And mind you, it was far too loud for her ears. Sixty decibels, Joly and Combeferre had told her, were only what the human ears could and_ should_ normally take. Other and higher than that, better get your ears checked, cleaned, and taken care of.

"'_Til now, I always got by on my own!_

_I never really cared until I met you! _

_And now it chills me to the bones! _

_How do I get you alone? _

_How do I get you alone? _

_Alone!" _

Yeah, today's really pretty messed up. Plus, she should be, nuh- uh, _not _crying. Well, she was, anyway, so that's that. She ignored the people passing behind her and kept her eyes glued to the waters below. But then that reminded her.

Blue. The water's blue. What else is blue? The sky? No, not really, since it's turning into a purplish blue or black. Dusk was coming. Lights flickered everywhere. Lamps lit. The stars followed suit, and in their brightening, the waves of the water sparkled, glittered… And it struck her, then, what her mind was making her remember—his eyes.

The same blue eyes that she feels reflected in the gentle toppling and silent hushes of the river.

Yes, it was the same as the blue eyes that mirrored her brown ones last time.

Enjolras.

He looked at her, then, there with something she couldn't fully comprehend but seemed to get. It was what she's yearned for from Marius. What she's envied from Cosette, who was so surrounded by it. Yet she could not say it. How cowardly of her.

And she said she was not fine, but will be able to take care of it.

Right.

Well, here's the problem: she does, uh, well, kind of, uh, no, fully, do, uh, feel, well, the same way, he, uh, does. But she's afraid! She knows it. Yes, she does, but she's unsure of herself.

"He loves me," she muttered to herself, holding the railing of the bridge gently. The melancholic tears ceased for a while.

"I—I… I _love_ him," she breathed out but tightened her hold on the bar, a little surprised that it was actually that easy to say. Well, her heart admitted it.

And she has, probably, even before. Back when they were still in high school. But she was still so confused at that time, so she couldn't properly get over Marius and _then_ look at Enjolras. She's noticed that he has, too, even before she did—even if she couldn't admit it yet.

Yes, she has noticed. It started with a simple look then. It was the way he looked at her after the fight they had over petty things—his argument that she was depriving herself of her freedom by continuing to moon over someone who could never possibly return her sentiments and her response that he was an incorrigible, heartless, rigid fool who would never understand her and the people he so rightfully claims need his or the Amis's 'help'. She was fed up with his speeches, seriously, and couldn't take no more shit from the likes of his especially when she has had a really fucked up day because Marius told her that he was marrying Cosette after their high school graduation. Yeah, she has had no luck that fateful day, but then Enjolras noticed and voiced it.

But Enjolras was getting more irritating by the second, so she pushed him off his chair out of pure frustration—it was just his luck the Amis weren't there, _fat chance he got_—but he had just basically laughed at her. That was when she realized that he was just getting her to talk her issues and problems out, so she couldn't decide whether she would kiss him, laugh with him, or cry. She settled for the second one because he was a wonderful friend, even if his being wonderful is often decreased by his bluntness and no-nonsense glares. But the knot in her stomach had twisted then when she found herself thinking that she had actually considered _kissing _him.

He had gazed at her then, with a not-so unfamiliar light—a fire seen only in when he is mid- speech, passionately orating about the ills of society and how people should unite and rise up against slavery—in his eyes. But that time, it felt as if it were only meant for her. The thing was—she got a little uncomfortable with that and looked down. She had mindlessly muttered, then, that the "many thoughts in her heart were dark", like Meneláus of Sparta, in _The Odyssey_. Enjolras had chuckled softly at that, remarking that she has been using literature for her despondency again. And the knot in her stomach loosened, relief washing over her. They had returned to the normal pace of bickering over little things like that again. But it had started there.

Then she had noticed the subtlety of his feelings when he began patting her on the back gently to congratulate her for something she did well, when he had smiled at her every time they chanced to meet, when he had grasped and squeezed her hand softly when she took his in a moment of fright the winter afternoon their school experienced a minor power loss…

"He loves me," she repeated softly. Then she said it again, tasting the words in her lips. Then once more, with more conviction and faith in the meaning of it, so a faint smile graced her mouth. And when the moon shined and reflected itself on the mirror the waters provided, she couldn't stop the few tears falling from her eyes or the beam that spread across her face. "He loves me," she said once more, and the lightness of the feeling warmed her heart.

She put a hand over her presently thudding heart and sighed contentedly.

But why was she making it so difficult for her? She clenched her hand into a fist. Look, he has got everything—looks, power, authority, money, even voice—but she feels inadequate for him. But she also knew that he would just refute that argument and she would be left with no choice but to love him. He was so like her in the ways that they weren't alike. Strange rapport, indeed, like Combeferre would whisper to Courfeyrac—they thought she wouldn't hear. Bah! They have gravely underestimated the ears she has. She was a singer and made a skill to listen to various notes so she would follow and get through songs properly and awesomely, so nothing escaped her even then.

But, no, nuh- uh, she didn't need Combeferre to start quoting Einstein's belief that "gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love". Nor would she listen to Joly referencing one of Newton's laws of motion that "opposites attract". And do not even mention Jehan's outbursts of Shakespearean sonnets, like, especially, the one that started with, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" And she seriously wasn't that much into art and lit like Grantaire when he kept pointing at them to be the Eponine and Sabinus of the present age. And she should really have not listened to Feuilly's suggestions of romantic Polish music that kept on hammering her about her and Enjolras. Plus, Bahorel and Courfeyrac should really stop pushing Enjolras on her way when certain things or 'accidents' occurred. Bossuet should also stop giving her love charms because things like that weren't just his forte—given his luck, though she appreciated the thought. The Amis were wonderful people, yeah, but they got them together. Or rather, pushed. Even Musichetta, Cosette, and Azelma. They had all teamed up for this.

She and Enjolras, of all people, should have suspected.

She sighed and chuckled softly at that thought. Those bastards, they were getting even.

Éponine opened her hand once more and put it down to rest on the bar. She looked at the moon and the smile on her face threatened to break it, but she exclaimed happily, "And I love him!"

"I love him! I love him! I do!"

She didn't care when people stared at her, but focused on the release.

It was so free. She was so free.

So was he.

Then she gasped and put a hand on her mouth.

"Liberté," she muttered, blinking. _Oh, my_, _Enjolras… _

He had asked and given her freedom.

Enjolras!

What has she done?

Then the phone on her pocket beeped. She checked who it was and was surprised to find Courfeyrac's name on the screen.

"Yes?" she asked, answering the call.

"Éponine, bonsoir. It's Combeferre—I'm borrowing Courf's phone. Is Enjolras with you?" he replied.

"No. Why?" she responded.

"Ah, you see, we haven't seen him since the talk in the room," he answered, "And we've pretty much searched the entire Paris Las Vegas. No sight of him. But his things are still in 47."

"What?" was only what she could reply.

"I know. But you see, we've tried searching the around the vicinity, even as far as trying a four point mile radius adjacent at least to the—" Combeferre started explaining.

"English, Combeferre, _English_," she cut in. She didn't need Maths right now. She needed Enjolras.

"Ah, all right, I mean, we tried scaling the place out, but no luck," Combeferre simply said. "It's like he just disappeared. Vanished. But, uh, let's not lose hope. I've tried reaching Cosette and Marius, too, but it seems that they are busy."

Éponine's mind was racing. The moment he said "we haven't seen him since…" made her frantic. If she added two and two, she would no doubt get four, but given her circumstances, the presence of Patron- Minette and search for her equaled to nothing but trouble. Was she really the one they were looking for? Or was it Enjolras? Didn't he—ah, the newspaper!

Vengeance—

No more than revenge.

Oh, stupid. Stupidity does have its price.

"—_boy, boy for sale! He's going cheap!_" Combeferre sang distractedly, which served its purpose. Éponine got out of her panic.

"What. You sing Mr. Bumble?" Éponine asked, shell shocked.

"Yes, but no. What's up, Éponine? I lost you for a while," he responded. "What were you thinking of?"

"Er, well, sorry," she apologized. "Look, Combeferre—something's wrong. Terribly wrong."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You see, earlier, before we got to talk in the room, Enjolras and me—we were hiding from Pa—a group, my father's troupe of brigands," she answered. "And we got away—barely. We thought they were looking for me, so they could take me back again, but then, I think I'm not their primary target. It's Enjolras. Not me."

"All of this makes _no_ sense. Would you mind explicating?" he asked.

"Long story. But to make sense out of all this, remember that last case he won last year, I think, when he handled a group against a mayor? That group is out for him. They want revenge, so they kidnapped him."

"Oh, so you mean—" he understood.

"Yes, so try gathering all of us in that room, but make sure someone calls the police, and then we'll talk with them. Let's figure what we'll do, then. I feel as if someone from them is going to make a threat sooner or later. I'll try to head there as soon as I can, okay?" she answered.

"All right. Let me fix those, and we'll wait here," he replied back.

"Good. Bye, then," she said.

"Likewise," he answered.

She put her phone on her pocket again and ran hurriedly. Passing people and streets like she was simply waltzing while her heart galloped like a horse in a race was a feat—especially when all she could think of was him. No, she wasn't about to let him go when she has just admitted and realized her feelings for him.

Enjolras, just hang on.

_You told me you would wait. _

* * *

Yeah. Psychobabble. What parts were your favorite? Least ones? Hope to hear from you soon. See ya! :)

P. S. I will respond to previous reviews once I have the luxury of time. So don't worry if I hadn't. I will. Soon.


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